And at the end of that long, dark tunnel … was Hudson. Fucking. Craft.

Unbelievable.

She’d spent so much time fuming about him these past few months that every single detail of his appearance was intimately familiar to her. That ridiculously thick blond hair, falling on his forehead in a wave. That square jaw, those muscular shoulders pressing arrogantly into his blue T-shirt, like he wanted to announce to the world, “Yo! Look at me! I work out!”

Yeah, we get it, Hudson. We get that your chiseled pecs and your perfect six-pack usually have people under the influence of especially strong margaritas drooling all over themselves.

What the hell was he doing here? He was perched on a little stool, one big hand around a mallet. He punctuated every word he spoke—strike that, bellowed—by swinging the mallet into a giant brass gong. “Break—” BONNGGG! “—Up!” BONNGGG! “Three—” BONNGGG! “—HUNDRED THOUSAND—” BONNGGG! “—breakups!”

Three … hundred thousand … breakups? What the fuck?

Her vision suddenly expanded. Details she hadn’t yet registered began to filter into Annika’s consciousness.

For one, the bright blue T-shirts they all wore said Break Up! on the front.

For another, there was the giant BREAK UP sign on the wall.

And then there was the slogan underneath, which read: YOUR LIFE, RESTARTED. That, right there, was Reason #2,064 why Annika could never believe that this—Hudson Craft’s app, a twisted bastardization of her idea—could be a coincidence.

Anger bubbled in her veins, a furious volcano on the verge of eruption. Not only had he probably—no, definitely—stolen her idea and taken all the success that was supposed to have been hers, he was now in her office building? He was in the hallowed space she’d carved out for herself, the space that was now in jeopardy, ringing a gong in the middle of a Nerf battle? What the hell? What the actual, ridiculous hell?

Annika slammed the glass door open with the heel of her hand, ignoring the throbbing ache. “Hey! Hudson Craft!”

They couldn’t hear her over the obnoxious gong, their own infernal screeching, and the awful “music” blaring over the loudspeaker. As Annika marched up to Hudson Craft, she tripped on a bright orange Nerf gun, her ankle twisting painfully in her slingbacks. Biting back a shriek, she scooped the Nerf gun off the floor and, aiming right at Hudson, pulled the trigger.

The foam dart surged from the chamber with a satisfying thwack! Annika grinned, her hands gripping the Nerf gun tight, watching as the dart whistled through the air toward her target.

As Hudson whooped and banged his gong, the foam dart hit him square in the face.

“BULL’S EYE!” Annika crowed, raising the Nerf gun up high.